One Of Those Nights
by Soncnica
Summary: One of those nights when squatting in a house nothing seems to be okay, yet everything is.


**Oh my god, 1.100 plus something words of nothing. Don't sue… I own nothing and I'm sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

It was a bright night... an early spring night, that hadn't quite caught up with the fact that it was actually spring already, because a thin layer of white snow was still covering the ground, silver moonlight making the view out of a dirty, broken window almost painfully bright.

It hurt Sam's eyes when he looked out to see if there was anything out there, anything that he'd have to shoot, stab, light on fire or simply talk to.

He didn't wanna talk. Or do anything at all, but just sit down, have a few beers and let the alcohol warm him up and lay him to sleep.

But there was nothing. Just trees, tall and dark, standing like sentinels of the house he and Dean found refuge in. Just trees and a dirt road that Dean had cussed at all the while, he drove his baby down it.

Nothing happened, the baby was fine, but Dean still checked her over once he parked her at the back of the house.

Soft hand over the hood and a whispered 'sorry, baby'. It was just how his brother rolled.

-:-

Squatting in the early spring in a house so run down, there was a freaking bush growing in the hallway in front of the front door… well… what could a person say to that, really?

Nothing, but sigh, step over the bush, find the living room – if there still was one – and make oneself comfortable on the floor.

At least the wooden floor was still alright. Still strong even if littered with dead leaves that the wind must've brought in, but that could be fixed with some awesome moves from his brother.

He never imagined that he'd live like this. When his dad had been alive, they at least stayed in motels or with friends or Bobby, but… this… just comes to show how low they had fallen. How much they had sacrificed. How many things were not available to them… how no normal thing was made for them.

-:-

The night was going strong, the winds chilly, the windows rattling, but a little fire Dean had managed to make in the middle of the room – his brother was a genius with fire, which was just creepy and scary and awesome at the same time – was making the room warm, bright with an orange glow, of safety, of something… familiar. Where there was fire, there should be pain, Sam knew that, but this… this was safe. Warm and cozy. There was no fear of the smoke suffocating them in their sleep, the windows were broken enough, there was no fear of the fire spreading – again, genius – no fear that anything would happen. It was safe.

"Pass me another one."

"Yeah."

He leaned forward and grabbed another beer from the cooler, his fingers slipping in the little drops of water sticking to the cold bottle: "Man, 's cold."

"'s winter."

"We need to get some money, get a room... 'm tired of squatting."

"Yeah well..."

"Yeah I know… do with what you can get, but come on, it's freaking freezing outside and in here."

"Let's just try to get some sleep, bundle up in the sleeping bags and we'll see what we can find tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah, alright."

He could see on his brother's face, where the glow of the fire hit his features just right… how tired, worn out and scared Dean looked. How his brother would give anything to be able to get Sam to sleep in a real bed, with real heat, real blankets. Big brother and dad's 'watch out for Sammy' playing in the flickers of the fire.

He sighed. He wished he'd be able to give all that to Dean too.

-:-

There was a noise… freakin' finally been able to fall asleep over the cold bite of air in his throat and there was a noise that woke him up.

Something fell, banged pretty hard on something wooden.

"Goddamn it, a haunted house?"

He heard Dean whisper from inside his sleeping bag. The words were muted by the thick fabric, but they were there.

"We checked, man… there was nothing." He mumbled back, alert, awake.

"Shit…"

They unzipped the bags and crawled out, guns and flashlights in hands.

Be ready, be prepared. Shoot, ask questions later.

It was still night outside. Still cold. No dawn approaching. Just dark.

-:-

Dean went first, silent killer, eyes wide open even if just a few moments before they were bathing in dreams. He opened the door that barricaded the living room from the rest of the house, letting in the cold from outside.

Sam shivered, goosebumps all over his body but the gun in his hand wasn't shaking one bit. Not was his flashlight.

They stepped out on the hall, passed some small chair left forgotten to rot, passed a door they had discovered was hiding a kitchen and stopped at a door that was hiding underneath a staircase, that they thought was a closet before and hadn't even checked.

Sloppy work, sloppy work… sloppy work that could've gotten them killed.

"Came from here, huh?"

Sam nodded. Couldn't be sure, not really, but… maybe.

Dean nodded to him to step closer so that he'd be able to open the door and Sam would shot whatever would jump out at them. Or crawl out. Or flicker out.

There was the noise again. It sounded like something was hitting the door from the inside, wanting to get out, get free.

Wasn't everyone banging on doors to get free?

It could be anything, anyone, anything.

"On three, Sam."

He nodded. On three.

He took a deep breath, raised the gun, directed the flashlight to the door and was ready. For anything. For anything but life apparently.

"One…"

"Two…"

"Three."

Dean opened the door, the shaky door knob getting stuck in his hand and Sam fired.

It was loud, so loud… the noise. So loud over the small haze of a hangover.

And then there was a skunk running away from them down the hall, below the chair and across the little bush.

"Huh…" was all Sam could say to the black and white tail.

-:-

"Great, Sammy. You nearly killed Pepé Le Pew."

Dean patted his shoulder, grinned at his tight pressed lips, turned around and walked away.

"Crap." Sam sighed and closed the closet's door.

"Crap…"

His heart was racing, his hand shook like crazy and he had to blink a few times to really realize what had just happened.

A skunk.

Fuck.

-:-

He sat down on his sleeping bag in front of his brother who was already getting all snuggly with his bag and ran his hands through his hair.

Dean's: "Maybe next time you'll shoot Penelope Pussycat" kinda made him wanna punch his brother.

"Shut up."

Dean laughed and flopped down to the floor, lying on his back and laughing his ass off.

"Shut up, man."

But it was so good to hear and watch his brother lose it to laughter. It felt so good. Felt new, but right. Felt like he couldn't not laugh along.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
